Page 38 of Cinderella Screwed Me Over
I leaned closer to Gil and whispered, “Does Anne look really mad?”
Gil glanced over my shoulder. “I think Devin’s talking her down.”
“Great. She was already annoyed with me, and now all everyone’s going to remember about this night is how I slapped my date.”
“Let’s give them something else to talk about, then.” Gil cupped my chin and brought his mouth down on mine. I wrapped my arms around his waist, parted my lips, and kissed him back. Kissing Gil was just like I remembered it. Amazing.
Gil sighed and placed his forehead against mine. “I wanted to do that since I first got here. I was pretty sad you showed up with a date.”
I gazed into his big brown eyes. “I guess getting rid of him was a good move, then.”
And even though I knew it couldn’t work out—we still lived in different cities—I spent the next few days glued to Gil’s side. Over that time, I wanted to bring up the long-distance thing and ask him if he thought we could figure out a way to still make us work. But I didn’t want to ruin it. Maybe I knew deep down that a relationship like that would be too difficult, and I also knew I’d be crushed if he said he didn’t care enough to try. So I’d held back what I wanted, and simply told him good-bye when it was time for him to go back to California.
About a year later, I got his wedding invitation in the mail. He’d met a beautiful girl and fallen in love.
Part of me had always thought that Gil and I would get back together. Like we were one of those couples who kept being brought together until we got the timing right, just like in those damn romance movies.
I went to his wedding with Drew, Devin, and Anne. If I were a character in one of the movies I used to love watching, I would’ve stood up and announced my feelings for Gil. He would’ve left his modelesque bride at the altar, taken me in his arms, and kissed me. Fade out. Roll credits.
Instead, I sat there in the chapel and watched the only good boyfriend I’d ever had—my first love—marry someone else.
So thanks a lot, Julia Roberts, for making me think love always worked out, even if you made money working on street corners or ran from guys who loved you. And you, too, Molly Ringwald—maybe you had to be a redhead to land the guy you loved. Except Sandra Bullock always got her man, too. In romance movies, everything always works out, because people who are destined to be together always find a way somehow.
And the brainwashing continues…
Time Wasted:I refuse to call my relationship with Gil a waste. We dated nine months in high school, a couple weeks over Christmas break, and three days after Devin’s wedding. I did, however, waste a few years thinking that we’d eventually get back together.
Lessons Learned:
There are a few guys who aren’t complete jerks. But it doesn’t even matter. Because Fate can be such a bitch.
Chapter Twelve
The narrator of my audiobook started right where I’d left off: female FBI agent closing in on the serial killer who preyed on young females living alone.
I stepped onto the treadmill and turned it on. Before long my heart was racing—not only because of the exercise, but also because I was scared for the protagonist. The killer was hiding under the bed, waiting for her to go to sleep.
Don’t go to sleep.
The FBI agent had gotten a tip, but I wasn’t sure she was going to make it in time.
The killer was sliding out, ready to make his move. Planning on killing another girl.
“Hey,” Jake said, stepping in front of the treadmill.
Stumbling over my feet, I gripped the rail to keep from going down, then barely managed to get my footing back. I stopped the treadmill and paused my book. My breaths sawed in and out of my mouth.
“I just thought I’d say hi. I didn’t realize it would scare you.”
“It does when you do it at the same time the killer is making his move.”
Confusion flashed across Jake’s features.
I pointed at my earphones. “I’m listening to a book. It’s at an intense part.” Glancing at the digital readout, I saw I’d run two miles.
Enough for today.
I patted my face with my towel and climbed off the treadmill. “How was the weekend rush at Blue?”
